


Restless

by xylodemon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Robb is restless and Theon would like to get warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://cinnatart.livejournal.com/profile)[**cinnatart**](http://cinnatart.livejournal.com/) 's _Kiss Meme 4.0_.

The late evening sky is heavy and dark, practically starless. An icy wind curls through the practice yard, hinting at snow, but Robb feels fevered, his skin flushed and his hair sweaty on his forehead. He swings his wooden sword at the target with the full weight of his arm, grunting as it connects, then spins around and swings again and again, finds a slow, easy rhythm that drags at his muscles, burns a slow ache up into his shoulder.

_Slash. Parry. Cut. Lunge._

He sweeps the sword down and under, slamming it into the target's side, then arcs it up and around, catching the target in the ribs.

_Slash. Parry. Cut. Lunge._

He aims a savage, jerking cut at the target's chest, swinging wide as he hears footsteps behind him; he turns, falling into a defensive stance, his sword lifted and crossing his chest.

"I yield," Theon says quietly, melting out of the shadows shrouding the armory, his arms raised and his mouth twitching at the corners.

"You startled me," Robb counters, more sharply than he intended. "I thought I was alone."

Theon frowns slightly, cocking his head to the side. "Restless tonight, Lord Stark?"

Robb lowers his sword, digs the point into a frozen tuft of weeds next to his foot. With his father in King's Landing and his mother on her way to White Harbor, Robb should be inside and acting like a man grown, discussing provisions with the steward or letting Maester Luwin bore him with the latest tidings from the South.

"It's all right," Theon says, his voice low and thick, snow crunching under the heels of his boots. He sways a little as he walks, has clearly been drinking. "I am, as well."

"Ros still refusing your custom?" Robb asks, sweat cooling on his forehead, at the back of his neck.

"I wouldn't know. I never got to see her," Theon replies, his mouth curving with a smile. "She was entertaining someone else, and I didn't feel like waiting."

Robb snorts out a soft laugh, his breath clouding in the frozen air. Theon sways again; he steadies himself with a handful of Robb's sleeve, then nudges Robb back against the target, kissing Robb with his hand in Robb's hair and his tongue tart with the taste of wine. Robb gasps into it, shocked and confused, nervous heat twisting in his belly and his fingers snagging in Theon's cloak, the sword clattering to the ground. He expects Theon to pull back and laugh, name the whole thing a joke, but he only kisses Robb harder, sucks Robb's tongue into his mouth and drags his thumb over the line of Robb's jaw.

"What?" Robb asks finally, breathless, his lips moving against Theon's because Theon is leaning in again. "I don't... what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to get warm," Theon says, his mouth flushed and wet. "It's too cold up here for me. I miss the sun, and salt water."

"Theon," Robb says, hissing as Theon's fingers twist in his hair, "you've not seen salt water in eight years."

"That doesn't mean I don't remember it," Theon says, his mouth behind Robb's ear. "I'd wager you'd never forget the snow, even if you went south tomorrow and stayed there thirty years."

Robb can't argue with that, doesn't get the chance; Theon is kissing him again, hot and wet, his cock hard against Robb's hip.

"You'd be warmer inside," Robb says quietly, a moan hiding in the back of his throat.

"I'd be warmest in your bed chamber," Theon counters, pulling Robb away from the target. "Hurry, Lord Stark, before someone decides your time would be better spent balancing the ledgers."


End file.
